


Oh Baby...!

by eloquated



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, a bit of sherlolly and baby make three, cavity warning!, this is total fluff!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 16:19:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16432769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eloquated/pseuds/eloquated
Summary: “Don’t you worry about him.  He’s going to be fine.  He’s just smart enough to have himself all tied up in knots, afraid of the worst. It’ll be better when the baby comes, I’m sure.  Now, what’re all these baby things in your bags?  I’ll put on the kettle, and you can show me everything!”Really, just some Sherlolly parent fluff to sweeten the weekend!





	Oh Baby...!

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my lovelies! I'm pretty sure all of this can be summed up in the tags, but I hope everyone is having a fabulous weekend.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Oh, Molly!  Look at you, dear!”  Mrs. Hudson shuffled quickly back from the door as Molly carefully stepped around her.  Even with the newly happy couple living upstairs, Molly’s schedule rarely overlapped with their kindly landlady’s-- a side effect of working in the morgue still.  

(Despite Sherlock’s increasingly cross reminders that she was probably working too hard, and rolling the gurneys with the corpses was probably putting strain on her.  Not to mention the chemicals and  _ other business _ that she was coming in contact with!)

“I know, I know, I look like I’m going to burst if I walk too close to the stove!”  Molly laughed, pink cheeked from the unseasonably warm afternoon. It was nearly October and still the trees that lined their street were only just starting to brown around the edges.  Thanks goodness, she privately thought, because every day she was feeling more and more restless.

How much worse it would be if she were trapped inside as well!  

With a coo, Mrs. Hudson rested her hands on the beach ball curve of Molly’s stomach, her smile only brightening at the reminder that -- very soon indeed! -- 221 Baker Street was going to have another voice added to the chaos.  “Any day now, yes? I’ve got in the calendar, but of course these things never go by those! It’ll come in its’ own time.. But I really can’t wait!” She admitted gleefully, sending Molly into a fit of breathless giggles.

Honestly, everything felt breathless these days, there just wasn’t enough room in her anymore!  “I think Sherlock could wait. He’s already so worried...” She admitted ruefully, and allowed herself to be chivvied upstairs.

“Don’t you worry about him.  He’s going to be fine. He’s just smart enough to have himself all tied up in knots, afraid of the worst. It’ll be better when the baby comes, I’m sure.  Now, what’re all these baby things in your bags? I’ll put on the kettle, and you can show me everything!”

...

Of course, for all her wisdom, Mrs. Hudson hadn’t factored in that they would both have to get through the birth, first.

Or that, of course Sherlock would be busy on a case when she went into labour; getting himself thrown headlong into the Thames and water logging his phone at the bottom of the river.  Neither of them anticipated that Molly would spend the first five hours pacing around 221B, chatting to their landlady and quietly trying Sherlock’s phone again... and again... and again.

And none of them expected that it would be Greg that drove her to the hospital, alternately fussing and fretting, and trying to comfort Molly between the contractions.  “Just breathe through it, Molls. You know what you’re doing!” He coached from the driver’s seat, fingers drumming anxiously on the steering wheel, “Just a bit further now, few more blocks.  Sherlock’ll know where to go, we left him a note, yeah? Bet he’ll be there right after we are!”

Ignoring the damp smudge it left on the glass, Molly pressed her flushed cheek to the cold window.  Greg’s voice was more like a reassuring background buzz, white noise that occasionally reached over and squeezed her hand comfortingly when they were stuck at the lights.  “I know, I know.. I might kill him when he shows up, but I know.” She panted a laugh, sounding thin and airless as the next contraction tensed across her middle and radiated out from the base of her spine.

“Ow ow- bloody- oh  _ Hell- _ !”  She cursed through the pain and drummed her heels on the floor in a stomp.  

“It’s alright, Molls!  See, light is turning green!  See? You’re doing great!”

...

A traffic jam.  Fifteen hours. And Ellington Holmes had clearly inherited his father’s dramatic timing.  

Sherlock’s Belstaff was a soaked puddle beside his chair, along with his jacket and shirt, because God knew what was floating in the Thames and he refused to get a single speck of it on his son.

_ His son _ .

Who was seven pounds; and half of that seemed to be made of bottomless hunger, and a head of wild black curls that had all the nurses enchanted.  Who had decided to  _ generously _ wait for his father to arrive before allowing himself to struggle into the world.  And who hadn’t closed his eyes since, staring at the world with cloudy newborn blues, impatient to be, and learn, and grow.

“He looks like you.”  Molly murmured from her bed, the papery sheets rustling as she curled onto her side to watch them.  

“I thought you were asleep.”  Sherlock pointed out, and smoothed the pad of his thumb over one of Ellis’ curls reverently.  Shaking her head, Molly reached over to rest her hand on her son’s back, smiling when he snuffled and tried to look back at her.

He was so warm against Sherlock’s chest, this tiny bundle of perfect  _ person _ ; all the requisite bits and pieces in all the right places.  “We made a human.” Sherlock pointed out, still not sure he believed any of it.  How could it be possible, after all? A few cells that wandered off and done what cells do.. multiplied.

Basic biology.

But there was nothing simple about the way Ellis smacked his tiny, rosebud mouth, or how he was already learning to take a deep breath before he started to cry.  

And Sherlock had no idea what it meant when he fussed and looked at him with those wide, bright eyes.  Like he  _ expected _ Sherlock to know what he needed; because he was daddy, and must therefore know everything.  He had never felt less like a genius in all his life.

“Here, pass him up,  He’s probably hungry.  Again.” Molly smiled softly at Sherlock’s moment of panic.  At the way he and Ellis looked at one another expectantly with the same blue-grey-green eyes.  Sherlock Holmes in miniature, God save the Commonwealth. “Do you think it’s normal for him to be so hungry?”  

“I suppose being born is hard for him, too.  And he has a lot of growing ahead of him...”

...

“Look, John!  How he follows my fingers?”  Sherlock all but beamed from the couch two days later, his son tucked securely into the crook of his arm, “He’s going to be exceptional, of course.  But-”

The corners of John’s mouth twitched, before his whole expression split in a grin.  “Let me guess. Brightest, best, most special boy that ever lived?” He teased, and gently tapped the end of Ellis’ tiny foot, watching the boy kick back in protest.  Well, if he had any doubts about him being Sherlock’s child...!

Even his onesie was printed with a diagram of a bee.  A miniature scientist in the making.

“Of course he is.”  Sherlock scoffed, but his eyes tracked up to the kitchen, where Molly was hanging the scribbled crayon drawing that Rosie had brought as a ‘present’ for her godparents.  

“He takes after his mummy.”

 


End file.
